


A Little Green Pill

by Spiral_Rush



Series: Ecstasy AU [1]
Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Alternate Universe, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Roller Coaster, Gallows Humor, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-07 19:56:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19092034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiral_Rush/pseuds/Spiral_Rush
Summary: Billy accidentally takes ecstasy and Frank learns a lot of things he never knew about his friend and a few things about himself.***When Frank returned, Billy was on the couch watching the basketball game. He went into the kitchen to put the beer in the fridge. As he was standing in front of the open door, Billy came up behind him and hugged him.It wasn't the hugging itself that took Frank aback. They'd hugged plenty of times, enough that guys had started joking about it. But Billy had never come up behind him out of the blue and wrapped his arms around Frank's waist."Uh, hi, Bill."Billy pressed his face against Frank's neck. "Hi, Frankie."Frank expected Billy to make an off-color joke and then let go. He didn't.Seconds ticked by. Frank closed the fridge door. Billy was still holding him. This was getting weird.





	A Little Green Pill

**Author's Note:**

> Billy describes the abuse he suffered as a child in detailed and graphic terms.

Billy had not been thrilled by the idea of spending his precious leave time helping Frank assist an elderly woman who was friends with his family get her house ready so she could sell it and move to Florida. Then Frank started telling him a bit about what Mrs. Fiorelli was like and he changed his mind.

"So this woman is an ex-nun who got kicked out of the convent for having a wealthy lesbian lover who used to drive a red Porsche up to the front gates to pick her up to have sex," Billy said and sipped his coffee.

They were staying in Frank's Aunt Maria Theresa's house, which was a few doors down from Mrs. Fiorelli's. Aunt Maria Theresa was currently upstate on a bird watching tour, so they had the place to themselves. It was an old house and had last been redecorated in the 70s, which was obvious by the mustard colored paint on the kitchen walls, but it was comfortable. The important thing was that it was in New York City and not Iraq. He and Billy were going to spend the day moving furniture and painting and not getting shot at. It would be a nice change.

Frank said, "She was never a nun. She didn't take her vows."

"Because _that's_ the important part of that story."

The toaster popped and Billy got the bread, handed Frank his, then buttered a slice while continuing his recap. "After they broke up, she moved to Las Vegas and worked in a casino. Then she married a man who may possibly have been in the Mafia. And after they got divorced, she started her own marine salvage business and lived all over the Caribbean, diving for sunken treasure."

"Yeah," Frank said. He dredged his toast through the egg yolk on his plate. "She eventually got some inner ear thing so she couldn't dive anymore, got homesick, and came back to New York. Her daughter's moving to Florida now, so she's going back down there with her."

"Why didn't you tell me all this before? Hell, I want to meet this woman."

After breakfast, they walked over to Mrs. Fiorelli's house. It was a warm spring day with moisture in the air. There would likely be rain later. Frank hadn't been over in this part of town in a few years, since before he joined the Corps. It looked the same, but it didn't feel the same somehow. That wasn't a bad thing or a good thing, it was just different.

Mrs. Fiorelli liked Billy immediately. She was in her seventies but as active as a woman twenty years younger and still had an eye for beautiful people. She flirted with Billy shamelessly. He flirted back and persuaded her to tell some stories that Frank had never heard. She clarified that her old girlfriend's Porsche had been yellow.

Her daughter came by for a while, then left to run errands of her own. Mrs. Fiorell's grandson, Tyler or Taylor or some name that sounded like a surname, was there too, being a typical moody teenager. Frank tried to engage him in a little conversation, just to be neighborly, but he preferred to spend his time playing video games on a handheld device when he wasn't being badgered to actually do something to help out. Frank resisted the urge to slap the thing out of his hands.

They made good progress and by lunchtime the basement had been cleared out, everything sorted, packed, and carried upstairs where it would be picked up by either Goodwill or Mrs. Fiorelli's daughter later. Then they painted a couple of the rooms upstairs.

While they ate pizza, Mrs. Fiorella showed them her collection of coins she'd salvaged from the Caribbean. She took several out of their protective case and let him and Billy handle them. Frank held a 400-year-old Spanish gold coin in his hand. He wondered if any of the coins in his pocket would last that long, if anything that belonged to him or anyone he knew would last that long.

"They don't let you do this in a museum," he said, turning it over and running this thumb over the smooth edge.

"They might if we moved all their stuff for them for free," Billy said.

In the mid-afternoon, they went back to work. Everything went fine until they started in the garage.

After a half hour in an enclosed space full of multi-colored mold, Frank and Billy staged a strategic retreat. You couldn't fight mold. They were both wheezing, their eyes watering.

Billy hunched over, his hands on his knees, breathing hard. "I think I just got lung cancer."

Frank leaned against the side of the building, coughing.

Mrs. Fiorelli saw them through the kitchen window and came out, apologizing profusely. "I haven't been in there in so long, ever since I stopped driving," she said. "I didn't know it had gotten that bad. Oh, you boys look terrible."

"We'll be fine," Frank said. "Just need a little air." He coughed.

She ushered them into the kitchen, where she plied them with water and lemonade and then went upstairs. The sounds of Tyler Taylor playing his game came from the living room.

Mrs. Fiorelli came back with a pill bottle. "Here, this should help."

The phone rang, and she left the pills with them to answer it.

Frank picked it up. "Allergy medication." He sneezed, then opened the bottle and took a gel capsule for himself. He tossed the bottle to Billy.

"Are you just going to take that?"

Frank paused with the capsule in his palm. He sneezed again. "It's just over-the-counter stuff."

Billy studied the label.

Frank washed his pill down with lemonade. "I have never met anyone as paranoid about drugs as you, Billy. Did you watch one too many DARE presentations in school?"

"No. I just knew a bunch of heroin addicts growing up."

"Are you serious?"

Billy nodded. "There was a group of them used to hang out in a little park near one of the homes I was in. They used to turn tricks in the alleys around the neighborhood."

Growing up, Frank had seen homeless drug addicts - everyone who lived in New York, even the people in fancy apartments on Park Avenue, saw them eventually - but they didn't live on his street.

"Jesus."

"Yeah. So please forgive me for having an aversion to putting crap in my body without knowing what it's going to do."

"You drink."

"I know what alcohol's going to do to me."

Frank shook his head. "Claritin, the gateway drug."

Billy had another coughing fit. "Lung cancer," he muttered. He still tossed the bottle back to Frank unopened.

"Maybe it's emphysema," Frank said.

Mrs. Fiorelli came back and said she was going to hire a mold specialist to deal with the garage. That meant the house was pretty much done, but she insisted they stay for dinner, which turned out to be a delicious chicken seasoned with Frank didn't know how many spices and yellow rice with diced vegetables.

"It's a recipe I learned living in the Caribbean," she said, beaming.

During dinner Billy still coughed or sneezed occasionally, but Frank was feeling normal again.

When they were finished with dessert (an entire chocolate cake, which they ate half of), they said goodbye to Mrs. Fiorelli and walked back to Aunt Maria Theresa's house.

"She was hilarious," Billy said, hanging his jacket up on the coat tree by the door. "If I'd been alive in the 60s, I would have hit it."

"I think you still could."

Billy cackled, then coughed again. Frank took the pill bottle, which Mrs. Fiorelli had insisted he keep, out of his pocket. "Just take one before you start coughing up blood."

"Frankie, you could be a Corps doctor with that comforting bedside manner."

"Now look to the side and cough."

"You got to put your hand on my balls first."

Frank laughed. He fished a capsule out and handed it to Billy, who finally took it.

They had nothing to do for the entire night, which was fantastic. Aunt Maria Theresa didn't have beer in the house (although she did have several bottles of liquors in suspicious colors, including an almost fluorescent green), so he took a walk to the corner store. The evening was cool and refreshing. It started drizzling on his way back.

A rainy night in New York was perfect bliss after months in the desert.

When Frank returned, Billy was on the couch watching the basketball game. He went into the kitchen to put the beer in the fridge. As he was standing in front of the open door, Billy came up behind him and hugged him.

It wasn't the hugging itself that took Frank aback. They'd hugged plenty of times, enough that guys had started joking about it. But Billy had never come up behind him out of the blue and wrapped his arms around Frank's waist.

"Uh, hi, Bill."

Billy pressed his face against Frank's neck. "Hi, Frankie."

Frank expected Billy to make an off-color joke and then let go. He didn't.

Seconds ticked by. Frank closed the fridge door. Billy was still holding him. This was getting weird. "You okay, Billy?"

"I'm fine. How are you?"

"Fine. Fine." Billy squeezed him gently. A hand caressed Frank's side. "Look, Billy..."

"Hmm?" Billy was swaying a little bit.

Frank took Billy's hands and pulled them apart. "Yeah. I know you like me and all, but this is a bit much."

Frank turned around and stepped back. Then he took another step back just to be safe, until he was against the kitchen counter.

"I do like you, Frankie," he said. "I like you more than anyone else. I love you."

Had Billy drunk an entire bottle of one of those fancy liquors while he was gone?

"That's nice." Frank cleared his throat. "Are you feeling okay?"

Billy swung his arms up and over his head, stretching. "I feel great. Fantastic. Absolutely wonderful." He said _wonderful_ with a flourish. "I'm so glad we came here, Frank. This is the best time I've had in ages."

There was clearly something wrong with Billy.

They were watching basketball - not even two teams that were doing well this year - in a little old lady house. The entire place was covered in crochet and horse figurines. Unless Billy had been replaced by a pod person, there was no way he would ever consider this an actual good time.

"That's good. The thing is, Billy, you're kind of acting-- not like yourself."

"How is me feeling wonderful not being like myself?" He grinned. "I'm w--"

Billy stopped and clapped a hand over his mouth, then turned and ran to the bathroom.

Frank followed him and arrived in time to hear him vomiting behind the closed door. He knocked and said, "Hey."

After a toilet flush and several minutes of running water, Billy emerged. He looked disoriented.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know. I felt fine. Really good, actually. Then I just had to throw up. And I'm really thirsty."

Billy settled back onto the couch. Frank got him a bottle of water and moved a small trash can next to his feet.

"Thanks," Billy said, opening the bottle.

"You think it was something you ate?" They'd eaten the same things all day and Frank felt fine.

Billy took a swig. "I don't know."

Frank sat down next to him. For a while they half watched basketball players run up and down the court on TV. It was not a good game. Frank kept one eye on Billy, who slumped against the cushions.

Eventually, Billy started laughing quietly.

"What's so funny?" Frank asked.

"I was thinking about that woman from the FBI I hooked up with last time we were in Quantico. I wonder where she is right now."

"Probably out looking for America's Most Wanted."

"Probably. She was..." Billy paused, then said, "I think you would have liked her."

Frank mock punched Billy in the shoulder. "If you thought I would have liked her, maybe you should have introduced us. You don't have to keep all the ladies for yourself."

Billy grinned. "You know, I should have. We could have fucked her together. I think she would've been into that."

Frank laughed. "That'd be a bad idea for you, Billy boy. I know you've got the face, but I've got the dick. Just being pretty doesn't satisfy a woman."

Billy laughed a little too loud. Frank expected him to come back with something like _Well, lucky for me I've got both._ Instead he said, "You _do_ have a nice dick, Frank."

Having played sports in high school and been in the military for a while now, Frank was used to seeing guys naked. He knew what Billy and dozens of others looked like, but he never thought about it. It was like looking at a tree or a Humvee.

Right now, Billy seemed like he was seriously considering the merits of Frank's privates. This was weirder than the hugging.

Billy slapped his knee. "That's it. I'm going to look her up. Next time, you and me, Frankie."

Frank laughed but it came out awkward. "You're not actually going to look her up, are you?"

"Hell, yeah, I am." As soon as he said it, Billy's expression shifted, like he suddenly realized he'd told a guy he thought his little sister was hot. "Oh, unless you don't want to..."

"I think I should stay out of whatever you've got going on with her."

"Fair enough. We could have a really good time by ourselves."

Frank leaned away, staring at Billy. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

Frank realized he hadn't ever gotten himself a beer. He needed one.

"Oh, don't tell me you haven't thought about it," Billy said.

"I haven't."

Billy looked skeptical. "Well, I have."

"I do not need to know what goes on in that degenerate mind of yours, Billy."

Billy laughed. "You seriously think two guys hooking up is _degenerate_? See, this is why I never brought it up before. Because you're a prude, Frank."

"I am not."

"Typical repressed Catholic boy."

"I am not repressed."

"Two guys is not _degenerate_." He laced the word with irony. "Jesus. If you knew half the shit I've gotten up to..."

Frank held up a hand. "I do not want to know." And because, against his better judgment, he felt the need to defend himself a little. "And I don't think it's degenerate."

"So do you not know what that word means?"

Frank kicked Billy's leg lightly. "I know what it means."

"So you were being unnecessarily judgmental?"

"I was making it clear that I am not interested in having sex with a guy, Billy."

"Not in general or not with me?"

Frank sighed. "Both. But especially not with you."

Billy looked slightly hurt. "Why not?"

"What do you mean, why not?"

"Well, we're friends."

"That's exactly why not."

Billy looked confused.

Frank scratched his head. How the hell had this conversation even started? "Look, you don't mix sex and friendship. It makes both of those things go bad."

"That's exactly the philosophy I'd expect from a repressed Catholic boy."

"Ai ai ai. What has gotten into you tonight? You're extra annoying."

"I just had an idea that I thought would be fun. You had to go and piss all over it with your sexual repression."

Frank was getting irritated now. "You don't have any idea what you're talking about."

A wicked grin split Billy's face. He pulled himself up higher on the couch. "If you want to prove you're not repressed, Frank, tell me what you like."

"I like the Yankees," Frank said.

Billy made a retching noise. "Tell me what you like. I won't tell anyone else, I swear." Frank rolled his eyes. "Come on. Tell me something you think will shock me."

"I like the Yankees _and_ the Red Sox."

Billy threw a pillow at him.

Frank took the pillow and arranged it behind his back. "I don't even want to think about what I'd have to say to actually shock you, Bill."

Hurt flickered over Billy's face. "You make me sound like a pervert."

"That's not what I meant." He rapped his knuckles on Billy's shoulder. When he didn't say anything, Frank added, "It's just that you, you know--"

"You know _what_?"

"You like to brag, Billy. You like to show off. And it's really easy for you to pick up pretty much whoever you want."

"So that makes me some kind of _degenerate_."

"Jesus, Billy. You're the one who started all this. You're the one trying to interrogate me about what I jerk it to or whatever. And now you're mad because I point out that you get around."

Billy flashed him an angry look. Then he made a guttural noise and covered his mouth again.

"Billy?"

He leaned his head between his knees, breathing deep. After about a minute, Billy slowly sat back up.

"You _are_ sick," Frank said quietly.

Billy tugged on his shirt collar, then rolled up the sleeves. He bent down and took his socks off.

"You feel hot?"

Billy nodded. He grabbed the water Frank had given him earlier and drank the rest of the bottle in one gulp. "And thirsty," he muttered. He got up and went to the kitchen, where he got another water and stood in front of the open fridge door, drinking it as fast as he could.

Frank didn't think this was food poisoning. He came over to stand near his friend. "Billy, I think there is something the matter with you. We need to figure out what it is."

Billy opened a second bottle of water. "Well, I'm open to ideas because I have no fucking clue what's wrong with me right now."

Frank had no idea either. He could take Billy to the hospital, but he didn't want to do that unless he absolutely had to. Their commanding officer really didn't like guys getting themselves incapacitated during leave. And he knew Billy hated the idea of doing drugs, but he _was_ acting like he was high. Frank didn't want anybody reporting him for drug use.

Then Frank remembered that an old friend of his who was still around the neighborhood had become a nurse and called her.

Mia was surprised that Frank Castle called her on a random weeknight, but switched into medical professional mode when he explained that he needed help and what Billy's symptoms were. She relayed questions for him to ask: was Billy dizzy (no), or have chest pains (no), or blurry vision (a little), or was he sweating (yes). His pupils were dilated, which Frank hadn't noticed before because his eyes were so dark.

When Frank explained exactly how Billy had been acting strange, she zeroed in on the hugging and the oversharing. "I can't say for sure without examining him, but that sounds similar to side effects from taking MDMA."

"What's that?"

"Ecstasy, E, X, molly.

Frank looked at Billy, who was back on the couch, listening and watching intently. "Are you serious?"

Billy looked alarmed.

She said, "One of the old names for it is the hug drug."

"But how could he have been exposed to it? He didn't take anything. I've been with him all day."

"Sometimes drug users think they're being clever and put their pills in OTC bottles. So you think it's pain meds, allergy meds..."

Oh, shit.

"Hang on, Mia."

He retrieved the bottle Mrs. Fiorella had given him from his jacket, opened it, and spilled the pills on the coffee table. Most of them had blue caps, but a handful had green.

Billy looked at the pills. He picked up a blue one and a green one and examined them side by side on his palm.

Frank said into the phone, "I think I found the source."

After Frank hung up, Billy asked, "What did she say?"

Frank explained.

When he was done, Billy said, "You are seriously telling me that I took freaking ecstasy by accident?"

"It seems like it, yeah."

Billy just stared at Frank for a few seconds, then started laughing. He fell back on the couch, shaking and laughing until tears rolled down his face.

"Billy?"

"Oh, my fucking God. I go to help you clean out an old lady's house and I end up on ecstasy. How in the fucking hell did this happen?" He pointed at Frank. "You, Frank, you gave me that pill."

Frank winced. He _was_ partly responsible for this. He hadn't even noticed there were two different color capsules in the bottle.

"It's not like I put it there," he said. "You know I wouldn't do something like this on purpose."

Billy put his head in his hands and sighed. "I know. But, Jesus Christ, Frank, I stay away from this shit and this happens to me anyway."

"You're going to be fine. Mia said it'll wear off in a few hours. You should just stay home, stay calm, and drink a lot of water. Go the ER if your temperature gets too high or you start having chest pains."

Billy narrowed his eyes. "It probably belongs to that little shit grandson, Trailer or whatever his name is."

"Probably. We'll deal with that later." Frank was relieved to know what was going on. Now he had a plan. This was like a siege and he and Billy had to hold out. They had a secure location and supplies. They'd make it.

"So what's going to happen?"

"Pretty much what's been happening. You wanting to cuddle and talking my ear off. Which is not much different from what you do normally, so." Billy snorted. Frank asked, "How you feeling?"

"I feel-- good. I mean, I know I've been drugged, but I still feel fine. I don't want to throw up anymore."

There were no more water bottles in the kitchen, so Frank spent a few minutes looking around for another case. He finally found it in a tiny closet under the stairs. He tossed Billy one and then restocked the fridge.

"Thanks. The weird thing is I don't have to piss yet."

"That's dehydration for you." Frank sat down on the couch. The TV had been on mute all this time. The game was over and some cop show was on.

"How long's this supposed to last?"

"Depends. It can be up to six hours."

"Christ."

"I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"Since, as I said, you're the one who handed me that pill, you can keep me from jumping out a window because I think I can fly."

"I think it's acid that does that."

The two of them lapsed into silence. This would be over in a few hours. Until then, they could sit and watch TV. Probably Billy would talk at him, maybe he'd want to hug again. Frank would deal with it.

***

Frank wasn't sure if he could deal with this.

Not long after the phone call, the drug must have gone into full effect because Billy went into weird overdrive. He picked up two of Aunt Maria Theresa's horse figures from a side table and put them in lewd poses while laughing. Then he started stroking the couch upholstery. He put his cheek on the arm and rubbed his face over it.

"Billy, what are you doing?"

"It's so soft. You should feel this. It's _so_ soft."

"I know it's soft. I'm sitting on it."

Billy smiled at him. He looked very relaxed. Frank didn't realize how much semi-nervous energy Billy put out all the time until he saw him in this state. The only other time he was this relaxed was when he was in a firefight, but that was different because he was focused and not goofy.

"Thanks for staying up with me."

"No problem, Billy." Even if Frank hadn't accidentally given Billy that damn capsule, he'd stay up to make sure his friend was all right anyway.

"You're my best friend, Frankie."

"You're my best friend, too."

Billy's smile got even brighter. "It makes me really happy, being with you."

Frank nodded. He wasn't sure what to say to Earnest Billy. It was like some Jekyll and Hyde thing, only with the hidden personality being determined to hug you.

Billy said, "I'm sorry I freaked you out earlier with the sex thing."

Not again.

"I just like being with you so much that I wanted to share that with you."

One of the side effects Mia had mentioned was loss of inhibitions and Billy was definitely showing that now. Frank kept still and quiet. Maybe if he didn't react, Billy would wander onto another subject.

"I know that having sex with you would be amazing."

Or maybe not.

"I bet you're good in bed."

Frank tried to will himself to vanish into the couch cushions like spare change.

"I know I am. You think it's bragging, but it's true. I like when I get a woman to scream and bite me."

Frank shifted uneasily. "Well, I'm not a woman, so it doesn't sound like there's much in it for me."

"Oh, Frankie. I would give you the best blow job you've ever had in your life."

Frank wasn't even drinking anything but he almost choked.

"I'd let you fuck me in the ass if you wanted. I haven't let a man do that to me in years, but I'd let you do it. I love you that much."

Billy was looking very intently at him, like maybe he was thinking of suggesting they do this right now. Frank had to say something. "I didn't know you liked guys."

That was probably not the best thing to say, but it was true and he couldn't think of anything to say that would knock Billy off of this sex tangent.

Billy shrugged. "I don't."

Frank couldn't help raising an eyebrow. "But you've slept with guys."

"Yeah. But I don't really like them. I don't know. I like women. I know that." He paused, frowning. "You know, I don't really know if I like guys or not. Is that weird?"

When Frank realized Billy was waiting for an answer, he said, "Kind of."

"Maybe I just haven't liked any of the guys I've been with much. Really liked them, like I like you."

Frank knew he probably shouldn't ask, but he couldn't help it. "Is that why you want to have sex with me, to figure out if you actually swing both ways or are just a horn dog?"

"No. I want to have sex with you because you're my friend, Frank." Billy seemed exasperated like Frank had failed to grasp an obvious point. "I want to give you something really nice."

It was kind of touching, except that Billy was literally talking about giving Frank his ass. Frank did not know how to respond to that.

Billy went on, "I've never had a friend like you. Before I joined the Corps, I never really had friends at all."

Frank eyed a possible escape route. "What, you're telling me Charming Bill the Beaut didn't have friends?"

"Not really. I had people who," he paused slightly, "were obsessed with me, I guess. Who wanted to have sex with me. Or who wanted to kick my ass."

Frank could imagine teen Billy driving girls crazy with lust and other guys crazy with jealousy. Or, given what he had just said, the other way around too. Frank hadn't realized till now how much he didn't know about his best friend.

Billy ran his thumb along the edge of the couch arm. "There was this guy my sophomore year of high school, Max, who was just fixated on me. He tried to jump me in the empty lot behind a bodega."

"Did you kick his ass?"

"Broke his nose. Knocked out three of his teeth. Hairline fracture in his cheekbone."

Although he suspected this wasn't the case, Frank ventured, "He mad you got a girl he wanted?"

"No. He was mad I wouldn't suck his dick even though I'd sucked his cousin's."

Frank kneaded the palm of his hand, thinking for a second. "When he jumped you, did he...?"

"He tried. He was a real fucked up kid."

"Jesus," Frank said. "Did he get arrested?"

"Oh, yeah. He had been killing dogs in his neighborhood and they finally caught him."

"But he wasn't arrested for attacking you?"

"No." Billy looked confused by the question.

"I mean, he assaulted you. And not like a couple of meatheads getting mad and hitting each other. That was like..." Frank didn't know what to call it without offending Billy.

"Attempted rape?"

He was surprised Billy used the word. "Yeah."

Frank must have made a face because Billy gave him an evaluating look. "Are you bothered that I've had sex with men?"

"No. I am bothered that somebody tried to rape you and nobody did anything about it."

"I did something about it. I beat his face in."

"Where were the adults? The social workers and people like that."

Billy laughed. "I was a sixteen-year-old foster kid, Frank. They were waiting for me to either run away or age out of the group home. It's like last semester of senior year. No one gives a shit because they're all just waiting for it to be over."

Frank knew Billy grew up in foster care. Billy had told him that not long after they first met. He'd never really thought about what that would have been like. "I mean, I just think that they'd do something if they were told--"

"I didn't tell them."

"Why not?"

Billy looked at Frank like he'd asked why the sun shone. "They weren't going to do anything about it except probably arrest me for beating him up."

"You don't know--"

"No. No. I know. I _know_. I know because no one did anything about it when I actually got raped."

After that, neither of them said anything for a long time. Billy tore the wrapper off his water bottle and rolled it up, pulling it off his fingers when it stuck. He didn't look at Frank.

Then he said, "I'm sorry I brought it up. Forget it."

"You don't have to apologize."

"This is why I hate drugs. You lose control and you end up doing shit you don't want to do. I never meant to tell you." With that, Billy got up and went to the fridge. "I have never been this thirsty in my life. You want a beer?"

"Sure."

He handed Frank the peace offering and sat back down with two bottles of water for himself. He drank half of one, then said, "Well, this is embarrassing."

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about."

Billy looked at him, a mix of anger and pain. "There is plenty to be embarrassed about. I can't even control what's coming out of my mouth right now. You're going to think..." He clenched a fist and bit it to cut himself off.

Frank leaned back, balancing the bottle on his knee, and cleared his throat. "What I think is that you were a kid who didn't have anybody looking out for you. That's not your fault."

Billy made a dismissive noise.

"And I think maybe if you talked about it, you might feel better, maybe. If you don't want to, that's okay. But you don't have to hide things from me, Billy. You can tell me anything you want. Whatever you want to get off your chest, I'll listen. I won't say anything to anybody."

Billy didn't respond for so long Frank thought the subject was closed. Then he sat up and slid the collar of his t-shirt down.

"What are you doing?" Frank asked, trying not to be alarmed.

Billy bared his shoulder, which was crossed by several scars that Frank was familiar with. Billy had said he fell climbing a fence when he was a kid, broken his arm, and torn his rotator cuff bad enough he had to have an operation.

"I got these when I was eleven. There was this guy who volunteered at the group home I lived in. Arthur Walsh. He used to do stuff with us, dad stuff, play basketball, help us with homework, crap like that. He had a dog he'd bring with him sometimes. He got us stuff for our birthdays. He was fun and he talked to us, talked to me. Told me I was strong, told me I was smart. He told me I was pretty."

Billy shook his head slightly, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Frank had the feeling he wasn't quite in the room anymore. "That should have tipped me off. If I had been smart, it would have. But I was a dumb kid, a weak kid. I fell for it. He started spending a lot of time alone with me, and I liked that, the attention. Finally, someone who wanted me around, who liked me. I thought he liked me."

Frank held his breath for a moment. He shouldn't have been surprised. Everybody knew this kind of shit happened to foster kids sometimes. Hell, it happened to all kids, whether they had parents or were rich or poor or whatever their circumstances were. But actually listening to someone, his friend, talk about it was like getting hit in the gut.

"That's something I never figured out. Did he actually like me, or was he just after a kid stupid enough to let him put his hands on him? And why do I fucking care one way or the other? He was just a fucking pervert!" Billy hit the arm of the couch with his open palm, hard.

The sound, and probably the sting, seemed to bring him back to himself. "Anyway, it doesn't matter," he said, flexing his hand. "I was going to tell you how I got the scars. Well, Arthur," Billy shrugged, "you know." He cleared his throat. "Like they say, 'Show us on the doll where the bad man touched you.'" He laughed, then pointed to his crotch. "Right there. He touched me right there. And..." Billy swallowed, "I touched him."

He ran his hands over his head. "I didn't want to. He didn't threaten me or hold a gun to my head or anything, but I did it anyway. I didn't want to. I really didn't want to, but I did it anyway. I did it."

"You didn't do anything, Bill," Frank said quietly. Billy didn't seem to hear him.

"And then after, he taught me how to suck him off. He put his fingers..." Billy closed his eyes and swallowed again. "He was so fucking nice to me when he was doing it. Said he didn't want to hurt me. He said he didn't want to hurt me but he made me do those things."

Billy was breathing hard, like he was running.

Frank said, "Billy?"

He opened his eyes again. "He acted like we were dating, like I was his goddamn boyfriend. He said he couldn't wait for me to be able to come for him. He said he wanted it to be fun for me." Billy gripped the edge of the couch and yelled, "Well, it wasn't fucking fun! I didn't want that! I never fucking wanted that! I just wanted him to pay attention to me! Why, why did he do that?"

"Billy," Frank said quietly, firmly. "What happened to your shoulder?"

He looked at Frank, eyes wild. For a few seconds, Frank felt violence in the air.

"Tell me what happened to your shoulder," he repeated.

Billy took several deep breathes and slowly settled back down. "One day-- I don't even know what set me off, honestly. I just snapped. Maybe he just called me pretty - pretty, pretty, pretty, always fucking _pretty_ \- one too many times. Maybe I finally got it through my thick skull that no one was ever going to love me no matter what I did. So I picked up my stickball bat and I hit him. I wanted to kill him, Frank."

Frank winced a little at hearing him say no one would ever love him.

"But I wasn't strong enough. So Arthur grabbed the bat and threw it on the floor, then he grabbed my arm and broke it. Tore my shoulder up. The whole time he was shouting at me, saying I was ungrateful, that I thought I was better than everybody else. Like I was stuck up for not wanting to fuck him anymore."

"Jesus, Billy."

"Yeah. He was really mad at me. Of course _I_ had no right to be mad at him."

Billy seemed to have calmed down, but he looked like his heart was breaking. Frank wondered how the two of them were going to make it through this night.

He asked, "Then what happened?"

"He said I attacked him because he had caught me stealing. That I was a violent, disturbed boy. That he didn't mean to hurt me but he was just defending himself and used a _little_ too much force."

"People didn't believe him."

"They did. He'd been volunteering there for years and nothing like that had ever happened. I got into fights at school, with the other kids in the homes I lived in. It was an easy lie to sell because it's what everybody already thought."

"You didn't tell anyone what he did."

Billy shook his head. Frank pressed his teeth together to keep himself from saying that Billy should have told.

Frank had been a proud kid. If something like that had happened to him, could he be sure he would have told anyone? His parents would have done something, he knew. If they went to the cops and the guy got away with it somehow, they might have killed him for it. But they would have done _something_ , made it stop somehow.

If he hadn't had parents who he knew would have helped him...

"This was back before stuff like that made the news," Billy said. "People didn't want to see it. They still don't want to. They want to believe that adults help orphans out of the goodness of their hearts." He said the last words with a sneer.

Billy took another breath, then drained the rest of a water bottle and continued. "Arthur didn't press charges. He said he forgave me." He gave a short, brittle laugh. "He was probably hoping he could still get at my ass again."

Frank had the urge to march out of the house right now, find this guy wherever the hell he was and beat him to death.

"I was moved to another home. I never saw Arthur again." Billy paused, frowning, then added, "I didn't tell anyone. But a few years later I heard that another kid at Ray of Hope did. Arthur did the same thing to him. And here I had thought I was special." Billy laughed bitterly again.

Arthur Walsh being punished didn't make Frank feel that much better, honestly. Him suffering didn't erase the damage he had done to Billy. At least he couldn't hurt anyone else. Frank wished he got what was coming to him in prison. That wasn't a good or a forgiving thing to think, but Frank wasn't a good or a forgiving man.

"I'm sorry," Frank said. It was in no way adequate, but he didn't know what else to say.

Billy rubbed his temples. He looked drained. "I kind of went crazy afterward. When I hit puberty, I went _really_ crazy. Started hooking up with anyone who would have sex with me. Girls my age. Boys my age. A couple of older women. Way too many men old enough to be my father."

Frank took a long pull of his beer. This story wasn't over yet and he had to keep it together to listen to the rest.

"The women were easy to deal with." Billy smiled slightly. "They just wanted a nice fuck with a good-looking young guy."

Frank didn't ask exactly how old Billy was when this happened. Did he even count as a "young guy?" What were any of these adults thinking?

"The men... I put myself in some bad situations. I'm kind of amazed I didn't get HIV." He scoffed. "The funny thing is like half of those old dudes wanted me to play weird role-playing games with them. There was this one guy in his freaking fifties who wanted me to pretend I was his brother and spank him. Like I'm in high school and this dude who's got a wife and kids and owns a pet store wants me to spank his ass with a wooden paddle."

 _That_ was a mental image Frank did not need. "Christ."

"Other boys mostly just wanted me to suck their dicks because they thought that was the least gay way to get their rocks off with another guy." He made a disgusted face. "One of them would always, always jizz on my face and in my fucking hair. I _hated_ it. But I didn't stop him. I just let people treat me like trash. And I didn't even have the excuse that I was high. Jesus, I did not have one single shred of self-respect at all."

"You didn't let everyone treat you like trash."

Billy looked at Frank. "You want more stories of me humiliating myself? Because I have more."

"You didn't let that kid who killed the dogs get with you."

Billy nodded slowly. "I did not."

"Why not him?"

"He just gave off a serial killer vibe. Even when I was completely fucked up out of my mind, I knew he was bad news. Like if I let him touch me, I was going to have to kill him before he killed me."

"So you had a line somewhere, and when somebody crossed it you bashed his head in." Billy looked at him, perplexed. "You must have had some self-respect left. I mean, you obviously survived all that. You made it through high school."

"Barely."

"You joined the freaking Marines. And you've survived mortar fire and being shot at. You're applying to officer school. You saved my life a couple times."

Billy smiled. "My greatest achievement."

"I'm saying, you had a terrible thing happen and you lost it. Traumatic shit fucks people up."

"Is that your official diagnosis, Dr. Castle?"

"You acted out. You had this poison inside you and you had to get it out somehow. And you hurt yourself in the process." Frank punched one hand into the other several times, imagining all of the people who hurt Billy were in it. "But you're still here. You've accomplished so many things in spite of it all. I mean, I can't imagine going through that as a kid. My brain literally can't process it. When I was eleven, I was mad because I had to do my homework when I wanted to watch TV. So if you think that you're broken because you went through hell and came out the other side to kick ass, the exact opposite is true. You're tough as nails, Billy. The strongest person I know."

Halfway through, Billy had turned his face away and started wiping his eyes. Frank didn't make any comments about it.

Frank did ask, "So what happened after you beat up the dog killer?"

"I was moved again for my junior year of high school. New neighborhood in a new borough. New school. Nobody knew me. I realized I had to do something with my life otherwise I was just going to keep going the way I was and end up dead in five, ten years. So I decided to join the Corps."

"Why the Marines?"

"I wanted to be so tough that no one would even think about doing anything to me ever again." He paused slightly. "When people ask me that question, I usually tell them some bullshit about serving my country."

Frank laughed.

Billy added, "But that's the truth. Anyway, I stopped having sex with guys at my new school. Like I said, I never liked it that much most of the time." He flashed a smile, a troubled shadow of his trademark charming grin. "I never gave up the ladies, though."

A moment of silence, and then Billy added, "You know, I never thought of it before, but I am really, really glad the Internet wasn't a thing when we were growing up."

"Why's that?"

"Because there'd probably be cell phone video of my idiot ass blowing three guys in a row at a party floating around." He looked horrified by the realization.

Frank couldn't help it, he laughed. He tried to stop himself, but then Billy laughed too. He leaned over and rested his head on Frank's shoulder and Frank put an arm around him.

"You're really not bothered by all this?"

"The only thing that bothers me is that people treated you this way. That makes me mad, Billy. Really mad."

Frank had half a mind to suggest that they track down those assholes and wipe them off the face of the planet. Maybe he would later when Billy was sober again.

Billy said quietly, "I let most of them do it. I went out looking for people to treat me this way. I got off on some of it, sometimes."

It clicked in Frank's head that Billy was telling him this, all these details, because he was digging for the thing that would make Frank say that it was actually all Billy's fault after all. He felt guilty for this shit that happened to him, like he was the one who did something wrong.

How on earth did that wire get crossed and what would it take to uncross it? Frank couldn't do it. He wondered if a professional in this sort of thing could. Or maybe it was permanent, and you just had to learn to work around it.

"You were a kid with PTSD," he said. "You weren't in your right mind. And the useless adults around you didn't do their job. They didn't get you the help you needed to keep you from doing that to yourself."

"I'm not sure you can ever really protect someone from themselves."

"Anyway, it doesn't matter to me what you did then. What matters is what you do now."

After a pause, Billy said, "PTSD, huh."

"Something like that."

"Sounds serious." Billy closed his eyes. "You're so good to me, Frank."

"That's because you're my friend. I am good to my friends."

"I want to be good to you like you are to me."

Christ. Frank thought they were done with this. He took a deep breath and pretended he hadn't heard that.

That didn't work because Billy kissed his neck. It was barely a touch, but it was clearly his lips brushing against Frank's skin.

Frank extricated himself from Billy and stood up. "Don't do that."

"I'm sorry."

Frank held up a hand. His temper was threatening to flare and he didn't want to lose it, not now. "Why'd you do that? You tell me about those bastards who took advantage of you and then you try to kiss me. What is that?"

"I told you I do fucked up things, Frank."

"Just don't ever think I'm like them because I'm not."

"I know you're not."

Frank opened his arms out. "Then why do you keep bringing this up?"

"Because I want to be with someone I love for once in my goddamn life. I just want to know what that's like. And I don't love anybody else but you, so I'm sorry, but you're it, Frank."

Frank had nothing to say to that. He slumped back down on the couch.

Billy crossed his arms over his chest and muttered, "I am going to find that punk who left his fucking X in his grandmother's medicine cabinet and skin him alive, I swear to fucking God. I've never skinned anyone before but I will figure it out."

"You need help getting rid of the body?"

Billy snorted. "Please forget I said that."

Frank knew he wasn't talking about wanting to kill Mrs. Fiorelli's grandson. "You said something?"

"The filters are just gone." He half smiled and mimed an explosion with his hands.

"You know, I never thought you had much of a filter given how much you talk."

"I am always filtering everything all the time." Billy sighed. "I know this is a cliche, but we will still be friends in the morning?"

"I think it's 'will you still respect me in the morning?'"

"That, too."

"I'm not mad, Billy. It's just been a hell of a night and all this, it's a lot. You know I love you, right?"

The happiness on Billy's face made Frank's stomach twist.

"So it's not that I don't love you or am offended or whatever. But I don't know how to do what you're asking, be best friends, brothers, and sleep together."

"It would be too weird."

"Maybe."

Billy gave him another evaluating look and said, "You know, there are some guys who already think we're sleeping together."

" _Who_?"

"Dorsey, Tanaka. Maybe some others."

"Seriously?" Billy nodded. "How do you know?"

"I overhead them talking about it."

"Gossiping little pricks."

"No one says anything to us because, well..." Billy didn't have to say it. They had a reputation for being stone cold crazy. Guys with any sense didn't want to piss either of them off. Billy continued, "And I don't think they really care if we're having sex or not. They were just talking shit."

Frank snorted and shook his head.

Billy said, "I could spread rumors about them if you want."

"Nah. I don't want you to do that.

"What do you want?" Billy sat up straighter. "Tell me, Frank."

"I want to sit and drink my beer and have some peace and quiet."

Billy got up and went into the kitchen. He came back with another beer and handed it to Frank. Then he started out of the living room.

"Where are you going?"

"Upstairs."

"Why?"

"You wanted some peace and quiet."

"You don't have to leave. Come on." He waved an arm. "Sit on the couch with me."

They settled down together. Frank drank his beer. There was a late night show on TV now.

Frank kept glancing at his friend. He was amazed that Billy had done that. Frank just said what he wanted and, poof, it appeared. He kept waiting for Billy to start talking again, but he stayed silent.

Frank wanted to try an experiment. "Hey, Billy. I want you to drink some more water."

Billy smiled. "Yes, sir."

"Do not call me sir."

"Yes, Frank."

Billy got another bottle of water from the kitchen and returned having already drunk half of it.

"Is there anything else you want me to do?"

Frank didn't think Billy was trying to make it sound sexual, but it did. His eyes were fixed on Frank.

"Not right now." Billy stayed standing as though waiting for Frank to say "at ease." Frank inclined his head toward the couch. "Come on and sit down."

Billy sat. Frank kept waiting for a quip, a comment, a disturbing story, a weird little bit of flirting. Nothing. Billy just sat drinking his water.

And watching Frank. His pupils were not as dilated as they were, so maybe the drug was finally starting to wear off.

He considered telling Billy to do something else, just to see if he would do it. For a second, the space between the two of them filled with possibility, temptation. A tiny hook flashed and caught Frank's skin. All of Billy's ridiculous brag flirting hadn't moved him, but this quiet, serious desire to please did.

He could tell - ask - Billy to do what he wanted. Not as a soldier following orders, but as a man. A man who was strong enough, tough enough, that he didn't have to submit to anyone unless he wanted to. And Frank was pretty sure Billy wanted to submit to him. The idea struck a chord in him that he was only half aware of, some sharp dark desire sparking in the night.

Shit. Had he accidentally backed into a sex thing with Billy while trying to avoid a sex thing with Billy?

The specter of all those other men who wanted Billy to do things, things no kid should ever be asked to do, ghosted into his consciousness. Billy was a grown man now, but the idea of doing anything even remotely like what they did sickened him, so he pushed all of those thoughts out of his head.

"You know, I sometimes fantasize about what it would be like if you ever shut up. Now that you've actually done it, it's kind of creepy."

Billy smiled.

"You can talk if you want to. I know you do."

Billy leaned his head back on the couch. "I'll forget this ever happened if that's what you want to do."

"I don't think that's an option." A part of Frank didn't really want to forget it, disturbing parts and all. He liked having things out in the open, even if they were difficult to look at. You couldn't kill something you couldn't see. "You told me so much that I didn't know. And I kind of feel like I should know. I'm your best friend, aren't I?"

Billy tilted his head, eyes on Frank. "That's why I didn't want to tell you."

Frank gave Billy a light shove. "You should know that I wouldn't hold it against you."

"People get weird when you talk about shit like this. Me just admitting I was a foster kid makes people who grew up in normal families uncomfortable. They feel sorry for me. They think I'm fragile. Or they think I must be a violent psycho."

"You kind of are." Frank meant both fragile and a violent psycho, but he didn't say that.

Billy laughed. "My mother abandoned me and I was molested by the only man who ever acted like a father to me. What's your excuse, Frank?"

"I just am what I am."

"Are you Popeye now?"

The conversation devolved into jokes about cartoon characters, then eventually into silence. Frank was pretty sure both of them had had enough.

The late show ended and an old black-and-white movie started, some sci-fi thing with space ships on strings and people in rubber suits.

Frank drifted into his thoughts, trying to decide what he should do about this situation, if he should even do anything. Maybe going back to normal was the right thing to do. He couldn't forget that Billy had been abused as a child, but he could forget the other stuff.

A tiny part of him didn't want to, though. That worried him.

A derisive noise got his attention. Billy said, "Who taught these actors how to hold a gun?"

Frank glanced at the screen and immediately saw what Billy was talking about. "That is a terrible grip."

"We could have stopped this alien invasion, just the two of us." The monster chased a soldier, who managed to fall down and drop his weapon. "What are you doing? Oh, you deserve to get eaten."

"Army," Frank scoffed.

Billy got up and went to the bathroom just as the hero was getting into a knife fight with a killer space squid. Frank was pondering techniques for killing an opponent with multiple arms when he came back and plopped down on the couch again.

"I drank, what, six bottles of water and only just now had to piss. Don't do drugs, kids."

The movie ended. The dark infomercial part of the night began, with a woman demonstrating some complicated contraption for cutting vegetables. Frank yawned widely and put his feet up on the coffee table. He ought to get up and go to bed, but failed to convey this message to his body clearly enough to move.

A moment later, Billy yawned in response, then lay down on his side, his head on Frank's lap, his legs curled up. In a few minutes, he was asleep.

Apparently Frank was sleeping on the couch tonight. He ran his hand over Billy's hair, the buzzcut fuzzy under his hand.

"Sleep it off, Billy," he murmured.

He leaned back and closed his eyes. Tonight, he didn't need to figure anything out. They could both just rest.

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who aren't familiar with baseball, Yankees versus Red Sox is one of the biggest rivalries in the history of the game.


End file.
